Spin of Fate, page 22
“Leave him be, Rax,” Raxazi said. “The terms of the trade demand he be returned in one piece.”
“Trade?” asked Aranel, who had remained uncharacteristically silent throughout the exchange.
“Your worm of a chief’s agreed to give herself up for him,” Raxazi replied. “One worm for another. Give it another day, tops, and she’ll come crawling to our door.”
“Weepers and their bleeding loyalty.” Raxaz sniggered. “More like stupidity, if you ask me—trading a chief for her brat-in-command. Still, if she wants to be in chains, I’m not going to stop her.”
His gaze fell on Aina then, lips curving into a predatory grin. A cold dread snatched at Aina’s chest, and she shrank against the wall.
Mama. The plea sprang to her mind, unbidden. Mama…help…don’t let him hurt me…
“I can’t harm you,” Raxaz said to Meizan. He angled his sword toward Aina, then Aranel. “So how about you watch me do to your clanmates what you did to mine?”
“They’re not my clanmates!” Meizan’s calm shattered. “They had nothing to do with what happened in Martharan, so leave them out of it!”
“You think I’ll believe that, you filthy worm-worshipper?”
“He’s telling the truth,” Raxazi interjected. “Look at their keiza. The long-haired one’s is so bright, just looking at it makes me want to puke.”
“An upper, eh?” Raxaz gave another snicker, leering at Aranel. “Probably a Balancer, then. And what the hell’s a bleeding Balancer doing with Kanjallen’s second-in-command? Are you allies?”
“We’re not,” Meizan said before Aranel could reply. “The Balancers aren’t allied with any of the clans. They operate independently. You should know this.”
“Don’t lecture me, weeper.” Raxaz spat in Meizan’s face and returned his leer to Aranel. “I’ve been itching to fight an upper. They say your souls are pure, but what about your blood? Must be the same scummy shit flowing through your veins as ours.”
He shoved Meizan’s blade through the bars again, but Raxazi yanked his arm back.
“Stop tormenting prisoners, brother,” she reproached, snatching the weapon from her clanmate. “You’ll fall to Narakh if you keep it up. Besides, you’ll have enough chances to spill upper blood once Toranic Law breaks and we invade their realms.”
Aina heard a sharp intake of breath from Aranel as the woman hauled her clanmate away.
“If Toranic Law breaks.” Raxaz’s voice echoed through the halls. “I’m beginning to doubt Kaldrav’s even capable of such a thing. Miserable leech should stop wasting his time and use it for something useful. Like teaching the bleeding troops how to properly channel.”
Meizan sank against the stone once their voices faded and brought a hand to his chest.
“Are you all right?” Aranel asked in alarm, chains clinking as he scooted closer. “That monster! I have gazarou fur on me somewhere, if I can just reach it.”
“Don’t bother,” Meizan said. “It’s a shallow cut. The least of what I deserve.”
Aranel froze. “You don’t mean you actually—”
“Do you think your chief’s really coming for you?” Aina cut in before Aranel could start expounding about nonviolence. “It seems like a big risk to free a not-exactly-second-in-command.”
“She’ll come.” Meizan’s eyes flickered with emotion. “Only she won’t trust those vermin to keep their end of the bargain. Knowing Chief, she’ll bring all of Kanjallen with her and try freeing the other prisoners too.”
“But this is Kaldrav’s stronghold. He’s got to have thousands of soldiers here,” Aina said. “Trying to break everyone out would be insanity!”
“It would. And Kaldrav’s soldiers are probably expecting it too. I think they’re using me to lure Kanjallen so they can try and recapture them.”
“And your chief would fall for such an obvious trap?”
“Only if she thinks she can break out of it with Kanjallen unharmed.”
“Did neither of you hear what else they said?” Aranel asked, his voice pitched higher than normal. “About Toranic Law? They talked about breaking Toranic Law! Invading the upper realms! You heard them, did you not?”
“We did, but no one cares.” Meizan brushed him off. “It’s just mangler talk, it’s never going to happen.”
“I say let it break,” Aina said vindictively. “Bringing down that twisted system will be the one good thing Kaldrav does for the realm.”
“You don’t mean that!” Aranel stared at her in horror.
“Yes, I do.” Aina glared back. “You were there at the Balancer village, Aranel! You saw those children! After having seen the state Toranic Law has put them in, how can you still hold it in such high regard?”
“I…” Aranel faltered. “I admit, the system has its—well, its flaws. But the idea of it breaking…”
“That’s all it is,” Meizan dismissed. “An idea. Even the mangler said it, Aranel, that whatever Kaldrav’s trying with Toranic Law is a waste. Because it’s not going to break and we’re stuck with it for eternity. So stop worrying your damn head over it and start worrying about how you’re going to get out of this dump.”
Aranel said nothing more and chose to sulk in silence. The stillness that overtook their cell left Aina with no distraction from the splintering pain in her keiza. She reached for her chitrons in vain, wishing she could do something to numb the ache.
But she was helpless as she had been as a child, when she had to rely on her mother to get them out of dangerous situations. If only her mother were here now, or better yet, Zenyra—
“I got it,” Aina whispered, and if her hands weren’t chained she would have smacked herself for not coming up with it sooner. “Projection. I can project my soul to alert Zenyra of our situation. If anyone can get us out of this mess, it’s her.”
“You think?” Meizan asked. “Zenyra’s powerful, but she can’t single-handedly storm Kaufgar. It’s as you said before, there are thousands of soldiers here.”
“But she won’t be alone, right?” Aina felt a flutter of hope. “Your clan will be attacking the fortress soon. Zenyra can take advantage of the chaos to help break us out!”
“I already thought of projection, and it won’t work,” Aranel said. “We have no idea where we are in relation to Zenyra. It could take hours to search the realm, and you know what she said about the risk of chitronic taint. Meizan can’t project yet, so it would have to be one of us. Most Mayani wouldn’t last more than a few minutes of direct exposure before the chitrons of Malin began to corrupt their soul.”
“I know,” Aina said. “But I’m not most Mayani.” She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the throbbing of her keiza. Her weak, defective keiza.
Zenyra had said Aina’s keiza was the reason her soul was affected more gradually by the chitrons of Malin. She wasn’t sure whether this would apply once her soul was outside her body, but Aina was willing to take the chance.
“Stop and think, Aina,” Aranel said. “This is dangerous! What about the spin of your soul?”
Aina smiled, reminded of the time he’d arrested her and taken her to the guardhouse of Kirnos. It had been over four moons since, but some things never changed.
“I’ll let you worry about that,” she told him, pushing out her chitrons.
Aina watched her own body go limp in the chains. She saw Aranel’s distraught expression and Meizan’s mildly impressed one. Noting the location of their cell, Aina fled Kaufgar and sped across the realm.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Walls of Kaufgar
Aranel lost track of how long he and Meizan spent trapped in that narrow cell with Aina’s unconscious body in chains by their feet. Meizan sat with his knees drawn to his chest, staring blankly at the corroded bars. Aranel watched him out of the corner of his eye, a dozen questions at the tip of his tongue. Even if Meizan deigned to respond, Aranel wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answers.
To his surprise, Meizan addressed him first. “What?”
“What do you mean, what?” asked Aranel.
“Stop flapping your mouth like a gutted fish and say whatever it is you want to say.”
Aranel’s lips pressed into a tight line. “It might annoy you if I do.”
“Everything about you annoys me.”
“I caught you when you collapsed,” said Aranel, aggrieved. “Earlier, on the battlefield.”
“I wouldn’t have collapsed if you’d been channeling properly.”
“It seems we differ on what constitutes channeling properly. What that Raxaz fellow said about Martharan—Did you—Was that—” The words stumbled in his mouth, and Aranel blurted instead, “Was that why you were covered in blood when we first met? Because you’d been fighting Chiren?”
“You were covered in worse,” said Meizan. Aranel’s face burned at the memory. “And yes. My chief had been digging a tunnel to get us out of Martharan. It collapsed with the rain, and a couple dozen manglers ambushed us.”
So they’d been trying to escape when Chiren attacked them first.
Somehow, that little fact filled Aranel with relief. Perhaps Raxaz had been exaggerating. Perhaps Meizan showed more mercy to other humans than he did to kapizer.
“I thought Kanjallen and Chiren were allies,” said Aranel. “The scriptures say they fought together during Kal Ekana.”
“That was centuries ago. I doubt whoever wrote your stupid texts has been down here since the split.”
“That’s true,” conceded Aranel, curiosity piqued. “What do the Malini say about the Great Toranic Separation?”
“What’s there to say? One day, the war stopped. Thousands of people disappeared, and no one knew where. The ones who remained were stuck in this dump, unable to die.”
“You say that as if death’s a good thing.” He frowned at his teammate’s incredulous look. “Does it not scare you, Meizan? The notion of your soul leaving your body for eternity? Like projection, but you can never return, and your body is left to decay.”
“There are hundreds of Malini who’d do anything to die. The Kanjallen elders once spoke of how—” Meizan paused. It was rare for him to volunteer information about his clan.
“You may as well tell me,” said Aranel. “We’re stuck here together with nothing better to do. Unless you’d like me to try healing that wound for you.”
Meizan shot him a disgruntled look but obliged. “Just after the split, when no one knew about the torana, some clan members thought they were the gates to death. But they’d never seen anyone ascend through the gold or silver ones. They’d only seen others dragged through the black torana after committing unspeakable acts. So they concluded the key to dying was to inflict as much pain and suffering as humanly possible.”
“How terrible.” Aranel shuddered, wrapping his arms around his knees. “When did they realize what truly awaited them?”
“When a person who’d descended returned from the dead.” Meizan’s lips twisted. “Most never made it back, not even the fools who walked in. They either erased or they’re still rotting in Narakh. Maybe they think it’s a purgatory. Or the afterlife.”
“What about the upper realms?” asked Aranel, eager to talk about something less upsetting. “How did they find out about Mayana and Paramos?”
“I don’t know—” Meizan stopped abruptly as Aina stirred by their feet.
Her amber eyes fluttered open, and she sat up in a clatter of chains.
“They’re on—their way,” panted Aina. “Couldn’t find Zenyra. Found Taralei instead. Did the thing. You know. Carving letters using my chitrons. I think she understood. Said she’d get Zenyra—”
She broke off, breathing heavily. It was hard to tell through all the blood and the metal stabbing her forehead, but Aina’s keiza appeared to have dimmed only slightly, nowhere near as much as Aranel would have expected.
“You did well,” he said. “Thank you, Aina.” He nudged Meizan, who had returned to staring at the bars. “When do you think your clan’s getting here?”
Meizan shrugged, and it took all of Aranel’s self-control to not ask the one question that had been bothering him the most. The thing he’d suspected from the moment he’d caught sight of his teammate’s face after the little girl mentioned the weepers.
Meizan was leaving the Balancers. Aranel just hadn’t expected Aina to leave first.
“What now?” asked Aina, finally catching her breath.
“Now we wait,” said Meizan.
* * *
Aranel jolted from his stupor to an unearthly, wavering wail. Meizan shot up beside him, eyes bright in the candlelight.
Streams of dark energy slithered across the walls like vines. The obsidian began to ripple as if it were made of satin.
“These chitrons,” gasped Aina. “They feel…”
“Wrong,” murmured Meizan, more to himself than to Aina. “Her chitrons feel wrong. Foul and full of hatred.”
“Her?” asked Aranel.
“My chief,” said Meizan. “There’s something off about the energy, but I recognize her channeling.”
Aranel watched the stone, entranced. Tiny flakes of it fluttered to the ground, as if being rubbed by sandpaper, until the dark surface was smooth enough that Aranel could see his own blood-soaked reflection. Around him, every stone wall, even the ceiling, had been polished until it shone.
It was an impressive feat of channeling, although Aranel could not fathom how slicking the walls of Kaufgar would get them out of the fortress.
“Shut your eyes!” shouted Aina. Aranel heeded her out of instinct.
Pained screams filled Kaufgar, echoing off the walls and raising goose bumps across Aranel’s skin. Never had he heard a sound so raw, so agonized.
As the screaming continued, other sounds rose above it—the thundering of feet and clashing of metal as hundreds of soldiers stormed the fortress. Their war cries mimicked the wail from before.
“What’s happening?” yelled Aranel over the commotion. “Is it Kanjallen? Have they broken in?”
“They have,” said Meizan. “Keep your eyes fixed to the floor. The chief—I can’t believe her—she’s turned the stone into mirrors!”
The unearthly cry sounded again. It reverberated through the fortress, followed by another chorus of pain.
Sweet Sherka…they’ve got the nagamor with them!
It took Aranel a moment to fully appreciate the genius of Meizan’s chief and her plan. By turning the stone smooth enough to reflect the nagamor’s glare throughout the fortress, the Kanjallen chief had wiped out the majority of Kaldrav’s troops within in one fell swoop. They’d be thrashing for three minutes in utter, debilitating pain. Even once the effects of the nagamor’s glare wore off, they’d be too traumatized to fight properly.
Kanjallen’s rampage resounded through the fortress. As the screams died down, Aranel could only assume that Kaldrav’s soldiers had been knocked out or worse.
“How do we get out?” asked Aina.
“We wait,” said Meizan. “They’ll free all the prisoners.”
Soon enough, Aranel felt the stone wall rumble behind him as its foundations weakened. He tugged on his chains until they clattered to the ground, still attached to his wrists but no longer to the stone. While he was not entirely free, at least he could move his arms.
Aranel wrenched the metal rod from his keiza and nearly passed out from the pain. He looked over at Meizan’s and Aina’s feet, where their bloodied rods had been tossed to the ground.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Aranel, still not daring to look up.
They raced through the destroyed passageway, which was packed with escaped prisoners. The few soldiers Aranel presumed were from Kanjallen—it was difficult to tell when he could only see their legs—were slicing apart the remains of Kaldrav’s writhing army, seemingly unbothered with rounding up the prisoners.
Aranel flinched as warm blood sprayed his cheek. He kept his head down as he ran, eyes fixed on Meizan’s heels. If the jerk was going to ditch them for his clan, he’d better not do it while they were still inside Kaufgar.
Only once Aranel’s foot hit dirt did he look up, feeling relief for the first time to face the ruinous sky of Malin.
They had made it out.
But still they were surrounded. Even if Kanjallen had neutralized the forces within Kaufgar, Kaldrav had plenty of backup outside. The base of the fortress was a storm of chaos, swarming with soldiers and escaped prisoners. Arrows whizzed overhead, along with the occasional body and bursts of dark energy that threw up chunks of rock.
Aranel, Meizan, and Aina forced their way through the throng. Aranel ducked as Aina’s chain swung through the air, smashing one of Kaldrav’s men in the skull. Meizan had used his own chain to strangle another. It was far messier, far rougher than Aranel would have liked, but they were otherwise weaponless and had no access to their chitrons.
They finally extracted themselves from the horde and scrambled to higher ground. Aranel stopped to catch his breath once they’d crested a small hill, a safe distance from the battle that raged around Kaufgar.
The fortress cut an imposing sight. It rose from the ground like the half-buried blade of a scythe, its windowless obsidian walls tapered to a cruel point. Save a splintered portcullis at its base, Kaufgar had little in way of fenestration. Unlike the Mayani, the Malini appeared not to be great architects and had chosen to work with what the realm had given them.
It looks like a beak, thought Aranel, with a shiver as he remembered Hiraval’s tale of the seitarius. A colossal beak belonging to Azyaka the nagamor, who, according to Hiraval, slumbered deep below their feet. Why am I thinking of that now?
He glanced at Meizan, who was watching the clashing armies with something akin to longing. With all the prisoners freed, Kanjallen had begun their retreat. The nagamor circled overhead, and Meizan squinted at it, shielding his eyes with a hand.
